


omnis hypocrita

by miniekooki



Category: Death Parade (Anime), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Chess, Death, Death Parade References, Eventual Happy Ending, I Don't Even Know, Kim Taehyung | V is a Little Shit, M/M, Makeup Sex, Memory Loss, Min Yoongi | Suga is Bad at Feelings, Minor Violence, Model Park Jimin (BTS), Park Jimin (BTS) is a Sweetheart, Producer Min Yoongi | Suga, Professor Min Yoongi | Suga, Sex, Swearing, Violence, What Was I Thinking?, Wow, they're playing chess wtf HELP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26441035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniekooki/pseuds/miniekooki
Summary: Jimin and Yoongi put their lives on the line over a chess game.[Yoonmin Death Parade AU nobody asked for—don't have to watch the anime to understand the plot]
Relationships: Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	omnis hypocrita

**Author's Note:**

> \- started planning this after 6 episodes of death parade #trash i finished the anime in a day ( ꈍᴗꈍ)  
> \- UNBETAED WOAH SHIT AGAIN??  
> \- I'm actually shit at chess go figure  
> \- I RESEARCHED A LOT TF but I won't use too much Chess Language™ to make this easier for all of us. Please correct me for any errors!!  
> \- Yoongi turned out to be so bitchy here what -the fuck.  
> \- Yoongi had black hair and an undercut. Jimin has silvery/gray hair.  
> \- Flashbacks are not in chronological order <3  
> \- First time posting legit sex scene wow being 18 is great.  
> \- I recommend watching Death Parade. LEGIT.  
> \- What a Mess™

**"WELCOME TO QUINDECIM,"** are the first words Park Jimin hears the second he manages to blink away the momentary blindness.

He is slumped over the counter of a small bar, with only a tall man looming over him on the other side. The stranger has dark hair, curly and neatly-styled to frame his face. He's dressed in a crisp white shirt and black vest (probably designer) and a hideously red bow tie that he somehow pulls off.

Jimin rubs his face. "Who are you?"

A boxy grin. Jimin couldn't help but stare. "I'm Taehyung," he says, voice deep and cheerful. This man—Taehyung—is _beautiful._

"Hello," he greets rather belatedly, squinting through the pounding in his skull. "When did I get—"

"This seems like a bad rip-off of _Saw_ ," someone says in a lazy drawl. Jimin turns to face the speaker, a man with pale skin and sharp eyes in a black hoodie and jeans. "I guess I do have to listen to your bullshit after all." He looks at Jimin with a slight tilt of his head. "Finally awake, huh?"

 _I know you,_ Jimin thinks, shocking himself because he definitely does _not_ recognize him. His gaze follows the gentle swell of the man's lips, pink and pretty; feels his heart clenching for some reason. "I'm Jimin."

"Min Yoongi," he says, taking the seat beside him. He barely spares a glance when Jimin moves to stand. "Don't bother. The elevators won't open. There are bedrooms and two bathrooms. No exit."

"Uh, thanks," Jimin replies absentmindedly, admiring the large aquarium in front of the bar filled with glowing jellyfishes. Even the chandelier is a magnificent ensemble of lights in the shape of the same creature. 

All around the room are dummies dressed in skirts, suits, hats. . .Jimin suppresses a shudder, feeling vulnerable despite the fact that the figurines are neither alive nor purposely turned towards them.

_Still, what kind of a creep places a dummy in front of a piano?_

Taehyung claps his hands. "Okay. Again, welcome to Quindecim! I said I'm Taehyung, but I'm actually the new Quin, but I've never liked that name. Decim is on a day-off, that bastard. I'm your bartender, obviously." He grins at them like he's supposed to make sense. "Now, you're going to have to play a game to leave this place."

Jimin raises a brow. "That's all?" Then, "Why am I here in the first place?"

"Nice questions." Taehyung steps back just in time for a large 3×3 screen to appear from the ceiling. "This is a roulette. I'm going to give you a button when you decide to play. In the meantime, let me ask if you remember anything before coming here."

Yoongi frowns, pointing at The Red Vineyard roulette. "Is that _Van Gogh_?"

"Problem?"

"None," Jimin cuts in. He runs a hand through his hair, trying (and failing) to push down his panic. Nothing makes sense. If he focuses enough, he finds he can't recall _anything_ prior to this. "I only remember being a model?" 

Humming, Taehyung crosses his arms in contemplation. "Curious." He turns to Yoongi. "You?"

"Did you drug us?" he says, looking partially disturbed, although the erratic jerking of his knee beneath the counter betrays his nerves. "I think I was walking home before I got here."

"Huh." Taehyung watches them for a few moments. Jimin takes this time to study the bartender, in awe of that fact that he has _unique_ eyes—bright silver irises and dark crosses for pupils. Jimin would have to ask him what contact lenses he's using later. "That's definitely new." Shrugging, he places a big red button on the table. "Whatever. Play the game?"

Jimin glances at Yoongi. "What do you think?"

Yoongi glares at the bartender, fists clenched on his lap. "Pretty sure you aren't saying everything."

Taehyung blinks. "How do you know that and _not_ your—wait, okay, you're right." He spreads his arms wide, like some sort of a performer. "You have to stake your lives. You can't leave here unless you play."

"Stake our lives?" Jimin repeats, his fight-or-flight response pulling his muscles tight. "Does that mean . . ."

The smile that Taehyung gives them sends a chill down Jimin's spine. "Oh, yeah. Exactly that."

_They're going to die?_

"Aren't you supposed to say that in the middle of the game or something?" Yoongi grumbles, slumping on his seat. Jimin wants to bang his own head against the table and pass out forever.

"And miss all the fun? No way."

"You're sick," Jimin blurts out, voice lacking any serious bite. Sue him, he's _terrified._ He could barely hear himself over the sound of his heartbeat, could barely rationalize his thoughts over the _what the fuck is happening, why am I suddenly forced to fight for my life_ screaming in his brain. "Do you expect us to believe you?"

"Do you have any other choice?"

Jimin is about to begrudgingly agree when Yoongi raises his head and scowls. "We could beat you up. There's two of us and one of you." He regards Jimin with an expectant raise of his eyebrows. "You'll help, right?"

Taehyung tuts. "Look, you can either play or never leave."

Exasperated, Jimin turns to Yoongi. "Can we talk?" Yoongi gives a stiff nod before rising. The light catches the glint of his diamond earring and—

_Cherry blossoms. Laughter. Cameras._

Jimin braces a hand on the back of his seat, blinking through the sudden dizziness that takes over him. Taehyung shoots him a curious look but doesn't say anything.

Yoongi is already halfway to the elevators. "You coming or what?"

Jimin does not waste a second once they're out of earshot. "I want to get out of here."

Yoongi scoffs. "Get in line."

 _Ridiculous._ Jimin doesn't understand why he and Yoongi seem to go along like oil and water, yet he still finds himself unconsciously drawn to the paler man. There's a hole in Jimin's brain where an essential memory is supposed to be. He knows this because he feels—incomplete, like he lost a limb but doesn't remember _which_ limb.

"Maybe it's better to just listen to Taehyung," he suggests. There's no way to leave this place, so what's the worst that could happen?

A bored hum. "He's fishy."

" _Everything_ about this is fishy."

"Wow, I didn't notice, genius." Yoongi rolls his eyes, glowering at the elevator buttons. Needless to say, Jimin knows it's futile to try such an obvious method of escaping. 

Still. . . "You're a jerk."

Yoongi cracks his neck, raising an eyebrow at him. "And you're a pushover. If it'll shut you up, then we'll play the goddamn game."

"What is wrong with you?" Jimin has never encountered such an _ass_ of a person. There's a line between being wary of a stranger and being downright hostile. Yoongi is clearly the latter. Jimin couldn't even blame their situation since Yoongi neither looks panicked nor nervous.

Yoongi doesn't grace him with a response; not that Jimin is expecting him to. He walks back without a glance behind him, and Jimin is tempted to force his way through the elevators, especially when suffering a concussion seems the better option over trying to be civil with Yoongi.

* * *

  
  


Taehyung is wiping a wine glass when they get back. He smiles upon seeing them. "Sure took your time."

"It was barely five minutes," Jimin snaps, glowering at the giant red button that hasn't been moved from its original position. He's pissed, all right. Not only is he practically kidnapped with no recollection of the whole incident whatsoever, but also he just _has_ to be stuck with this asshole Min Yoongi who looks too familiar for Jimin's comfort.

"We'll take you up on your bullcrap," Yoongi helpfully announces, pressing on the button.

Jimin does _not_ flinch at the cheerful beeping of the roulette. He and Yoongi watch as the light stops in the middle square, flipping open to reveal Grandmaster's Chess.

"Interesting," Taehyung says, voice flat.

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak when something _explodes._

A rather pathetic squeak escapes Jimin as he whirls around, coughing when he inhales a mouthful of smoke. Yoongi is a string ready to snap at any moment beside him.

A round table sandwiched between two fancy wooden chairs are set up in the middle of the spacious area once the smoke clears. Jimin approaches, fascinated in spite of himself. The chess board seems to be sparkling from where he's standing. Yoongi wraps a hand around his wrist, halting his tracks.

"What?"

Ignoring him, Yoongi frowns at Taehyung. "We're supposed to bet our lives over a _chess game?_ " An angry pout slightly muffles his next words. "How are you even sure that we know how to play?"

"Of course you do," the bartender says as he walks past them, sounding so certain and _relaxed._ Jimin has never been a violent person, but he wants to punch that annoying stranger at least once. "Take a seat. I will explain the mechanics. Play rock, paper, scissors for the white side." 

He continues as the two players comply, Jimin winning in a second. "As you can see, there's something weird and sparkly inside each chess piece. Those are your respective body organs." Jimin and Yoongi pick up one of their pieces, a combination of a grimace and a flinch crossing their faces. "For example, there's a kidney in each rook **.** If Jimin's piece is captured by Yoongi, pain will be sent to Jimin."

"That's impossible," Jimin says. "How does that even make sense?"

"I won't try to dissuade you, dear." Taehyung's unique eyes burn with dull excitement. "You'll see for yourself soon enough." He settles himself on one of the metal stools at the bar counter, pulling a timer from his pocket. "One game only. Whoever checks the opponent's king thrice wins. You have 15 minutes each for the whole game. If neither of you wins in half an hour, it will either be a draw or the one with the most checks wins. Don't mind me here, I'll just keep watch."

Yoongi meets Jimin's gaze. For a split second, the intensity reminds Jimin of—

_A lazy smile. Silhouette against an orange sky._

"Aren't you scared?" the model asks, voice low. Yoongi would probably laugh at him, call him a pussy. Jimin doesn't particularly care. He has the right to be creeped out by everything that's been happening since he woke up.

To his surprise, Yoongi answers almost softly. "I think I should be." His eyes glaze over as if stuck in a memory. "I remember—something."

Jimin braces himself, almost at the edge of his seat. _Say it. Let me hear you say it._

"I'm a fucking loser," Yoongi grumbles with a tone that suggests he couldn't believe it's a possibility. Jimin is torn between being surprised and disappointed. Yoongi tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm a music producer. Wait, no. I _failed_ to be one, so I teach sleepless college students instead." He glances up as if he only realizes that he isn't alone. "Pathetic, right?"

"Teaching is not a pathetic profession," he says, almost on instinct. He's still reeling from the fact that this Min Yoongi guy _could_ be anything but sarcastic and uncouth. 

"I meant me, in general." He snorts, shaking his head. "Well, I'm not shocked, to be honest. You look like you've never suffered in your entire life."

Words of protest are already on their way out of his mouth when Jimin freezes as another memory flashes behind his eyes.

_Yoongi laughing. Bar. Multicolored lights. Yoongi. Kissing. Clothes on the floor. Yoongi._

"What the fuck," he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"What's up with you?"

"I. . ." He stares at Yoongi, stomach dropping down, down, down at the possibility that they—that he's—

How could he forget something like that?

"Nothing," he breathes out. _Focus on the game._ Surely after this, everything will make sense. He has to stop panicking every three seconds. He glances at Taehyung. "So we're playing 3-Check?"

"Yep."

Yoongi does this thing where he sucks in air with his mouth, creating a sort of reverse hiss. "Then why is it named Grandmaster's Chess?"

Taehyung clicks his tongue. "I don't know. Why are humans created just to die?"

Jimin frowns at that. "How is that related?"

The bartender smiles, eyes half-lidded in amusement. "Just felt like saying it. Anyway, I don't manage the details, kids. I'm just a. . .supervisor."

"You mean you have a boss?" Yoongi asks, face pinched in preparation to the next question, which is probably along the lines of _but_ _you're the one who dragged us into this?_

To both of their chagrin, Taehyung merely shrugs. "Don't we all?"

"Let's just play," Jimin says. "Get this out of the way and all." He clenches his fists in an attempt to hide the way his hands are trembling. He doesn't want to think about what could happen when all of his memories return.

"Great. Jimin, your turn starts—" Taehyung clicks on the timer. "—now."

If he were being honest with himself, Jimin is not fully convinced of the whole pain-in-the-organs thing, although he would be a complete idiot to disregard it altogether. He goes for a standard first move, a pawn two steps forward to e4.

Taehyung clicks the timer again. "Yoongi."

"Shut the fuck up," said man grumbles. Jimin bites his tongue before he could comment anything about his opponent's constant complaining. They already know there's no apparent way to escape from this, so why does he keep running his mouth like a fucking prick?

Yoongi touches a pawn and seems to change his mind, already drifting towards a knight when the bartender tuts. "Touch move, dears."

With an ugly twist of his mouth, Yoongi moves his pawn two steps forward at f4, right beside Jimin's.

 _Time to test the amount of truth in Taehyung's words,_ Jimin thinks, moving the same pawn forward and capturing Yoongi's in an _en passant._ As if on cue, Yoongi slams back into his chair with a pained gasp. Jimin looks up from gaping at the captured black pawn, which broke into pieces the moment he passed it, to Yoongi's contorted face.

"What—?" He glares at Taehyung, who is watching them with a blank expression. "What are you doing? Help him!"

"The pawns are connected to various nerve endings in your body," the bartender says, sounding like a terrible audiobook.

Yoongi slumps over his seat, elbows braced on his knees. "I'm fine," he breathes out. He moves another pawn one step forward to d6 with twitchy fingers. "Make your move, Jimin," he snaps when Jimin keeps staring. "Your time is running."

"But . . ." He studies his opponent's face, notes the thin line of perspiration on Yoongi's temple and the panic in his eyes. "Did you remember something?"

"Your move," Yoongi spits.

Jimin uses a knight to create the beginning of his defence at Nf3. "What is it? Why—"

"That's none of your fucking business." Yoongi moves a bishop, whose path is cleared because of his previous move.

He holds onto the strongest emotion he has at the moment—anger. "Are we really going to pretend that we don't know each other?" A bishop a few squares away from his knight. He couldn't focus on the game, not when flashes upon flashes of memories keep interrupting his trail of thought. "I don't understand the benefit of not. . ." The rest of his words escape his tongue in a scream. Pain spreads from his chest through his whole body and he's _burning_ , veins seemingly scorching from beneath his skin.

_[He just got home from work, the apartment empty for a change. Yoongi must be going home soon. Jimin couldn't remember the last time he was out late._

_Jimin rolls up his sleeves and starts to prepare for dinner.]_

Yoongi has a hand hovering towards him, though he doesn't close the distance. Jimin tries to catch his breath, vision blurry from the unshed tears. He cannot fathom how Yoongi went through this with just a mere gasp. This must be what being electrocuted feels like.

"Shit," he finds himself hissing. He could barely keep his attention on the game, let alone form a winning strategy. Hell, he isn't even sure if he wants to _win,_ not when Yoongi has to experience this kind of pain over and over.

_[Jimin is seated on the couch when Yoongi arrives. They don't exchange any words. Yoongi walks over to him and sits on Jimin's lap._

_They kiss for what felt like hours, both hard and panting and desperate for something Jimin doesn't wholly understand.]_

Jimin makes a move—just shifted another pawn. _God,_ remembering fucking sucks, not to mention the latest memory must be from before they ended up here since the both of them are wearing the same clothes.

What the hell is happening? How could they forget something so important? His eyes drift up to Yoongi, his cheeks flushing as he recalls what must be their last conscious _moment_ together before shit hit the fan. Maybe that's why he had been so fixated on Yoongi's lips from the start. 

Still, it's extremely bizarre that on top of forgetting each other, Yoongi became so _hostile_ to Jimin. Yoongi! The same person who kissed him like a hungry man!

Jimin almost facepalms himself. Of all things to think about in a death chess match. 

"Are you okay?" Yoongi says, voice so soft and bordering on concerned. Wow.

"Yeah." Jimin chooses another pawn, purposely avoiding capturing any of Yoongi's pieces. "I mean, I think so, why?" He doesn't know what to do. They're running out of time and Yoongi isn't showing any sign of remembering his relationship with Jimin.

Yoongi frowns at the board, long fingers curved around his queen. He had castled queenside a few turns ago, something Jimin totally missed from being too mentally preoccupied. "Because _check._ " With that, he captures Jimin's bishop, a perfect position to capture the white king. 

Three things happen at once—Jimin's god-awful scream, this time more severe than the first. Jimin's shirt being clawed open by desperate fingers because _fuck fuck fuck his insides are being split open_. Yoongi standing over him, face a deathly pallor.

_[Jimin had fought with Yoongi. He had said some really terrible things about the music producer's life choices. He might be the boyfriend, but Jimin has no right to insult his partner._

_He has a ring in his pocket. His manager and friend Kim Seokjin has been calling him since he left the studio, probably to talk him out of his impulsive decision. Jimin turns off his phone and runs to the apartment. He can make this right. He will.]_

Tears stain Jimin's cheeks. The pain subsides to a dull throb after a few, long minutes. Taehyung informs, in that casual and relaxed tone of his, that Jimin's rib is probably broken. He should protect his queen, which contains the liver, because it may cause internal bleeding along with the broken rib.

"I'm sorry," Yoongi whispers to him. There's something different in his eyes now, like Jimin's suffering is the trigger to his memories. Fucking good for him.

* * *

_[Yoongi is in bed when Jimin gets home. They haven't talked for days. Jimin had been out of town for a shoot, which is a great reason for the both of them to pretend like they're not fighting._

_Jimin straddles his boyfriend and flashes him a small smile. Yoongi is stone-faced, but he doesn't push Jimin away._

_"Hey, pretty," Jimin says, pushing a few strands of hair away from Yoongi's eyes. He showers him with soft kisses; nose, forehead, cheeks, lips. Yoongi soaks it all up without responding. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers. Jimin grinds against him in that way he knows Yoongi likes._

_Yoongi grunts. "Charm and sex won't work this time," he tells him, but he's already peeling Jimin's clothes off, long fingers gripping on thick thighs. "God, you're fucking horrible."_

_"I know." Jimin leans in and slots their tongues together, shivering when Yoongi moans as Jimin palms him through his boxers. "You like it, yeah?" They've always been better like this—letting their bodies do all the important 'talking'. Yoongi can curse at him and complain and call him names, but at the end of the day, he comes back to Jimin like a fucking idiot. The worst thing is Jimin is exactly the same._

_"Fuck you," Yoongi gasps out as Jimin wraps his mouth around Yoongi's cock. "Ugh, 'min you're so. . . fucking. . ." Jimin hums around his girth. Yoongi practically vibrates, fingers buried in Jimin's hair. "Beautiful." He thrusts in, careful not to choke his partner. "Want us to fight all the time so you can suck on dick, huh?"_

_"Yeah," Jimin says, pulling away with a pop. He spreads Yoongi's legs, smiling as he stares at his boyfriend. Yoongi is pretty like this, flushed and drunk with arousal, catty eyes half-lidded with want. Heck, even his throbbing cock is_ pretty. _Jimin wants to stop fighting with him and fuck him instead. Nothing ends well when they talk anyway. "Wanna come, gorgeous?"_

_"Mm." Yoongi mewls as Jimin fingers him open, lube coating his digits. "Mm, fuck me good, 'minie. I deserve it."_

_"Really?" Jimin shifts so he could rim the fuck out of Yoongi. He always likes seeing his stone of a boyfriend all hot and desperate. "What makes you think that you do?"_

_"You fucking hurt me." A throaty moan. "Wanna come on your face and—"_

_"Marry me," Jimin says, pulling his fingers away and crawling to Yoongi. They're skin to skin, as close as anybody could possibly be, but Jimin feels like Yoongi will slip right through his fingers if he doesn't do this._

_Yoongi blinks at him, sobering up. "What?"_

_Jimin takes the ring from the pocket of his pants on the floor. He straddles Yoongi again, making sure their cocks line together. He slowly grinds against him. "Marry me, Yoongi."_

_"Okay."_

_This time, it's Jimin who's surprised. "Really?"_

_With a shrug, Yoongi snatches the ring and wears it. "Yeah, sure." He pulls Jimin in for a deep kiss. "Love you. Please fuck me now."_

_And Jimin does. He's not certain if the weight in his chest is out of love or disappointment. Nonetheless, all he wants is Yoongi's forgiveness, so he fucks his fiancé over and over, until he could barely feel the emptiness inside him.]_

* * *

"Yoongi," Jimin murmurs after another set of turns. _My husband._ Yoongi raises a brow. _I have a husband._ "Check."

This time, Yoongi clutches at the lower part of his torso, wheezing and gasping. Jimin forces himself to stare at the broken black rook. There are only a couple of pieces left. Both of their pawns are cut down in half or less. Jimin trembles, not because of the cold (he _is_ still barely covered, since his buttons popped off), but because of how fucked up everything is.

Taehyung is cradling a glass of champagne. "You guys have a total of nine minutes left. You both have one check each."

Jimin is tired, dammit. He could barely move from his seat, his rib taking the most damage. Yoongi is ghastly pale, eyes perpetually wide from his injuries and memories.

And yes, Yoongi can stay silent all he wants, but Jimin _knows._ Yoongi remembers. Jimin is crippled by anxiety, by the fear of complete knowledge. He doesn't know why they ended up here, but if Yoongi could just _please_ let him know if he still cares. . .

 _Maybe his silence is an answer on itself,_ his brain helpfully tells him. Scowling, he pats his pocket, knowing that there's the confirmation he needs. He doesn't take the ring out. Not yet. He's not that desperate.

"Do you want to win?" Yoongi asks, breaking the terse silence. He had captured another white pawn, although Jimin hardly reacted. Not because he's numb, per se. His body just doesn't have the energy to violently thrash around anymore.

"I don't know."

"It's a yes or no question."

"Do you want me to win?" Jimin meets his eyes, trying and failing to find an emotion behind them. God, did he really fall in love with this man? His memories and current opinion of Yoongi clash horribly, especially when his supposed husband refuses to be a fucking person.

Yoongi wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "No." Jimin opens his mouth to respond. "But I don't want you to lose like this either."

"Why not?" He's treading on thin ice, except he doesn't care, because what more could he lose at this point? "You don't care about me."

"Maybe I do." Yoongi doesn't say anything more. Three words. Yoongi isn't even looking at him.

Jimin does not feel particularly hopeful or relieved, but he stares at his king like he could burn a hole through it. Yoongi clicks his tongue, impatient. "You gonna play or what?"

"We're close, aren't we?" he says, voice quiet and— _afraid._ The ring is heavy in his pocket. _Nothing to lose_. They're existing solely for this damn game. This will end with only one of them standing, after all.

Yoongi leans back and crosses his legs. The bags under his eyes are more prominent in this angle. "Pretty sure we're married or something."

"You knew?"

"Just a feeling at first, then memories." Yoongi shrugs. "I forgot you. There's no use dwelling on it, because there's probably a good reason why I don't remember you in the first place."

"And you don't care?" For some reason, Jimin maintains a perfectly flat tone. It's almost like muscle memory, as if his tongue remembers the way it's always spoken to Yoongi.

"Should I?" he says coolly. "Does it make a difference?"

Jimin feels like crying for a number of reasons, but none of them for his wreck of a relationship. Deep inside, he knows. Of course he does. Having lots of sex doesn't equate to lots of love.

So he turns to Taehyung, because it's easier to blame him. "This is why you were being weird earlier, right? Because you know we're husbands?"

The bartender has the audacity to look sympathetic. Like either of them needs it. "I'm not allowed to get in the way of your memories."

"But you're allowed to make us fight to death? Why are we even here? Isn't it enough that our marriage is fucked up?"

Taehyung nods at the board, where Yoongi is moving his knight to capture Jimin's bishop. "You'll see soon enough."

  
  


* * *

  
  


_[Yoongi comes home from his best friend Hoseok's house. Jimin only knows this thanks to Namjoon, Hoseok's boyfriend, who texted him a dinner invitation._

_Things haven't been looking up between Jimin and Yoongi lately. The modeling career had turned into an acting one. Yoongi had congratulated Jimin with a passionate sex, pounding into Jimin so hard he couldn't walk properly the next day, but Jimin knows his husband is back to his self-loathing mindset yet again, most likely cursing his teaching job._

_Jimin isn't stupid. He knows Yoongi isn't happy with him anymore. He's always over at Hoseok's during weekends, not even bothering to send Jimin off for out-of-town shoots like he used to._

_Yoongi comes home eventually, though. He always does, for some reason._

_Jimin is seated on the couch when he arrives. They don't exchange any words. Yoongi walks over to him and sits on Jimin's lap._

_They kiss for what felt like hours, both hard and panting and desperate for something Jimin now understands—the inevitable doom._

_Jimin kisses back, mental script ready for the breakup. He needs to let Yoongi go. They have to file a divorce and everything, but he has to let him go today._

_He pulls away. "Yoongi, we—"_

_"Shh." He kisses Jimin's neck. "Hoseok gave us wine. You want to drink?"_

_"I don't want to have sex," Jimin admits. Yoongi stops on top of him, pretty lips pink and shiny. He's beautiful. Always. It makes Jimin's heart hurt sometimes when he looks at Yoongi. "We need to talk."_

_Yoongi stares at him like he knows what Jimin will say anyway. "Fine, but let's drink while talking. We won't get drunk on wine."_

_"Okay."_

_Yoongi pops off the cork without preamble, drinking right from the bottle. He passes it to Jimin, who gulps wordlessly._

_"Tell me then."_

_Jimin chugs on more wine before responding. "Let's breakup."_

_Yoongi takes the bottle. They're pressed together despite the space in the couch. "Okay."_

_"Okay," Jimin echoes. He drinks more. He starts crying. His chest is burning, head pounding. "I love you," he says, not to take his words back, but to see if it would feel anything._

_It feels something, at least. Like exhausted patience and regret._

_Yoongi places the bottle on the floor, not caring that the remaining contents spill. "I love you." His breathing is labored, face contorted like something is eating him alive. Still, he kisses Jimin. "I love you." Slurred. Automatic. Empty. Not entirely hollow, but meaningless in the way they both would have preferred._

_Jimin kisses back, tasting the bitter wine on their tongues, and he should have known that moment that this is how they go down._

* * *

"We're dead," Jimin says in a whisper. He wipes a trail of blood on the corner of his mouth. Yoongi is as wide-eyed as he is. "We. . .died."

"You did." Taehyung walks to them, stopping a few steps away from the board. "This is the afterlife, or whatever you humans call it. People who die together end up here to play a game against each other. I'm the new Quin, an arbiter to judge your souls."

"You. . ." Jimin feels tears on his cheeks. "You killed us," he tells Yoongi. "You _killed_ us."

Yoongi, for the most part, looks like he's seen a ghost. Quite accurate since they're dead anyway. ". . .I did? But—" Understanding dawns on his face. "Hoseok. Hoseok gave me the wine. He told me to give it to you as a peace offering."

"That's correct," the arbiter confirms. "Jung Hoseok specifically said that only Jimin drinks it."

"Obviously I called bullshit," Yoongi grumbles, running a hand down his face. "Fuck."

"Fuck," Jimin echoes, staring off to the side. He's dead. _They're_ dead. Because of good ol' poison. "Why would Hoseok want me dead?" he asks instead even though his brain is screaming at the fact that _he's not coming back, this is it, he's fucking dead._

It takes Yoongi a moment. "I may or may not have told him that I'm sick of you. For years. In different ways."

"Sick of me," he repeats. He chuckles. God, it's so easy to laugh at everything when you know there's nothing after this. No Kim Seokjin, no shoots, no fan mails. Nothing. "My husband is sick of me." He bursts out laughing until he's sobbing at the end of it. Yoongi and Taehyung watch him. "I know." He's shaking again and it's ridiculous because _why does it still hurt even in death?_ "Fuck, I know."

Yoongi scratches his cheek, a sign of nerves. Jimin wishes he doesn't know that. He wishes he doesn't know a lot of things now. "Jimin—"

"You have five minutes left."

"If it's any consolation," Yoongi continues like Taehyung didn't speak, "I never want you dead. If I had known there's poison in that drink, I would've broken Seok's face with it."

"Maybe we deserve this," Jimin finds himself saying. He can finally be honest to Yoongi. What more could happen, right? "Miserable until the end."

"We don't." Yoongi says this in a quiet but stern voice. Jimin doesn't know how to take it, not when he feels nothing but hollow detachment to the whole thing.

"I don't want to play anymore," Jimin says. He doesn't care if Yoongi checkmates the fuck out of him. He's _tired._ He wants to ask Yoongi a hundred things, vocalize questions he never dared to even think about before, but what's the point? What's the fucking point when he knows all the answers anyway and asking will not result to Yoongi telling him the words he had always wanted to hear?

Yoongi purses his lips like he thinks Jimin is an idiot. The action reminds him of that night, of red wine and kissing and burning from the inside and _nothingness._ "You can't back out, Jimin. It's against the rules."

"Who cares about the damn rules?"

A shrug. "You clearly did." Jimin watches as Yoongi's eyes frost over like an impenetrable iceberg. He wonders how he misses it back when they're—when they're— 

"Yoongi," he whispers, like a prayer, like a plea. _Let us rest._

"Jimin," he moves his queen five steps diagonally, "it's too late. We're already dead."

They continue the game. Jimin focuses on it, refusing to half-ass the match just because he feels like pulling out. Yoongi deserves a real challenge. His entire life had been a big battle and it shouldn't stop now. Heck, their entire relationship is a constant game of push and pull. It's a wonder they lasted this long.

Taehyung doesn't sit back in the bar. He oversees the rest of the match with something close to boredom. Jimin wants to shake him until he breaks like a dummy.

All of their pawns are shattered to pieces now. Jimin has never been a great chess player, but he remembers the nights when neither he nor Yoongi could sleep, and he would pull out the chessboard Namjoon gifted them about two Christmases ago. Jimin would either forfeit, or it would end in a draw.

He thinks Yoongi is secretly good at it, judging from the calculating moves he keeps making. Jimin just wings it, mostly, although it doesn't mean that he's embracing defeat. No way.

"Aren't you supposed to make this harder or something?" Yoongi asks Taehyung after a minute, sounding more dead than he already is.

The arbiter crosses his arms. "You two have been in the most extreme condition for years. There's nothing I can do to bring out the worst you haven't already shown each other."

Jimin blanches. "What does that mean?" He had never wanted to kill his husband, had never wanted to hurt him. Still . . .

Taehyung nods like he knows Jimin has come to a realization. "Violence and insanity are not the worst paths a person could take."

He's right. Of course he is.

(Because sometimes, the subconscious belief of a sane mind is more evil than anything else there is.)

Yoongi wrings his hands together **.** "So it means we could say we love each other, but deep inside, it doesn't matter if either of us leaves or dies." He runs a hand down his face again, the exhaustion showing despite his attempts at looking unaffected. "Nice. Let's finish this."

Jimin stays quiet, pretending to be absorbed in the game. He doesn't voice out his disagreement with Yoongi's statement. Maybe it _is_ better this way—Jimin found out what exactly Yoongi thinks about their relationship in the end.

That it doesn't matter if Jimin leaves or dies.

He remembers then, the first time they met. He had been walking home from a shoot, back when he was just starting out, when Yoongi stumbled outside a nearby pub and puked all over Jimin's shoes. Jimin had wanted to scream at him, but Yoongi was crying about losing his job in a recording studio, talking shit about himself.

Jimin wonders if things would have turned out differently if he had just simply walked away.

Yoongi wins the game. 

"I thought you'd go over the time limit," Taehyung says, pocketing the timer. "You two have _very_ dramatic lives, by the way."

"Glad you were entertained," Jimin deadpans, eyes fixed on the remains of the chess pieces. He could barely breathe through his pain, his white shirt stained with blood and skin littered with bruises. It feels like dying all over again, only worse. "Am I going to hell then?"

"It's called the Void," the arbiter corrects. "Also, I can't tell you."

"You always say that," Yoongi says. Jimin doesn't look at him. He can't. It isn't because he lost—Jimin realizes the result doesn't matter to him. He feels numb and his life doesn't flash before his eyes, maybe it's because he's dead already, but he thinks it's because he's kind of expected this anyway. That Yoongi has always been a loser in life, but he will win when it matters the most. And he did. He won fair and square, without an ounce of arrogance or malice, because that's how Min Yoongi has always fought.

He still can't look at him though. 

(It hurts. It hurts in ways he can't even begin to explain.)

Taehyung watches them, a small frown tugging on his lips. "Follow me."

The arbiter leads them to the elevators without another word. Jimin limps behind him, purposely walking ahead of Yoongi. He doesn't want to see what kind of face he's making, doesn't want _Yoongi_ to see what kind of face _Jimin_ is making.

Eventually, Jimin forces himself to face Yoongi, his _husband_ , figuring this will be the last time he'll ever look into those dark, cold eyes.

_I love you._

He doesn't try to memorize the lines on his face and all that bittersweet _shit_ , but rather he meets his eyes with a smile, because despite everything, Yoongi had deserved his hard-earned victory, whatever that might mean in this situation.

 _This is the man you loved_ , he tells himself. Hardworking, passionate, annoying, sarcastic, thoughtful, kind, smart, beautiful. Min Yoongi who never learned how to love people more than music (maybe he just never learned how to love _Jimin_ ). Min Yoongi who is imperfect and an asshole and a sex god and a person whose dreams Jimin should have never held back.

"Congratulations," he says, holding out his palm.

Yoongi looks at it before shaking his hand. He doesn't try to lean in for a kiss—what's the use anyway? Their love existed, but it was neither unconditional nor everlasting. It had been fleeting, like all things in the world. Jimin is glad he has gotten a taste of it at all (that Yoongi had let him have a taste, however delusional it had been on Jimin's part).

"I'm sorry," is what Yoongi says. Jimin does not know what the apology is for. It could be _I'm sorry we drank that wine_ or _I'm sorry puking on you on that one random night would result in this_ or _I'm sorry we didn't love each other as hard as we could,_ but Jimin accepts it with a dazzling smile, because what else is left for him to do?

"Me, too." _I'm sorry I was selfish. I'm sorry I didn't try hard enough to understand you. I'm sorry we're miserable._

"You both did well," Taehyung assures them.

Jimin looks up at him, at those pretty eyes that seem to know everything. "Don't you feel bad doing this?"

"It's my job." Taehyung smiles. "Sorry I'm the one assigned to you. Decim would've been more merciful."

"It doesn't matter," Yoongi says. "It's already done."

It sounds like the perfect goodbye. _It's already done._ The relentless fucking sessions, the movie nights that always ends up with both of them naked, the stilted conversations, the impulsive marriage in America.

They don't matter. Not anymore. Not to Yoongi.

They step into the elevator. Jimin wants to laugh at the fact that the last thing he'll ever see is Taehyung's face.

The arbiter parts with them with a solemn nod. "Off you go."

It's only when the doors close that it sinks into Jimin.

_This is it._

He closes his eyes.

_I'm really dead._

Tears stream down his cheeks and—

nothing.

* * *

In Quindecim, a tall man in a blue patterned suit walks up to Taehyung. 

"Hey, Jeongguk."

"Hm?"

"Did I make the right choice?"

Jeongguk looks up to where Taehyung is staring, at the identical angels on top of both elevators—the path to Reincarnation.

He hums, walking to the bar. "Who knows?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> HEY HEY HEY how was it? THAT'S A WRAP BABY. As always, this has been an impulsive idea. I wrote this so fast wtf, not even a whole week! (I really need to get a life.) Again, please watch Death Parade! What a great anime :D
> 
> Please drop comments and give kudos to keep me going ;___;
> 
> Scream at [me](https://twitter.com/ynmvsual?s=09) or [here](https://twitter.com/sskkbitch?s=09).


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